


Doctor Who - Peter/You - Even the best fall down sometimes

by Samstown4077



Series: You/real person - You/fictional character [5]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who RPF
Genre: Comfort fic, Friendship, Other, comforting through character because of angst of various reasons, help to face an uncomfy situation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 02:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5272538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samstown4077/pseuds/Samstown4077
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another comfort fic, for a reader, being in a stage play, and has to fall from the stage. You are afraid, but nobody listens, and then you run into a man called Peter, telling you a story to help you deal with the situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doctor Who - Peter/You - Even the best fall down sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic for my project of "For your eyes only". What means, I write for people the story they like to read because they need comfort or just for fun. In this case the person was an actress/actor and had to fall from the stage while being in a play, and was unsure of how to deal with it. Sadly I couldn't find the person anymore, as they have changed their url. I wrote it somewhere in April this year. I removed of course the name. 
> 
> If you have read "Hold my hand" another comfort fic with Peter Capaldi, you might will like this one.

 

It’s a new production, semi-professional, but one day, you promised yourself, you’ll make the real deal, becoming a well-known actress on stage, maybe even in film. Who knows?

While you stand there and listen to the director thinking about your part, one sentence catches your attention.

“...and then, _you_ fall over, right from the stage.”

You need a few moments, while everybody is looking at you, “I do what?”

“You fall from the stage,” the person points toward some pages, the script. “You have read the script, haven’t you?”

“Of course I have, I just thought, that... ,” you look over the edge of the stage. “I don’t know, that it is not meant literally.”

Some people snicker, you only can glare at. “Well it is, literally, but don’t worry, you will be safe.”

They tell you there will be mats and people catching you and that it is not that high, and then they jump to the next side of the script, leaving you alone with your concern.

That night, when you lie in bed, you think about it. About falling from the stage, and that you have done some crazy stuff already on stage, but jumping from it, falling, no, that’s a first. No, you need to talk again with the director.

“It is not a scene we can cut out like this. It’s an important scene,” one explains to you.

You step toward the edge of the stage, swallowing hard. Feeling the almost judging looks on you.

 _‘Just be professional,_ ’ you think, and you are not quite sure what a professional would do in your situation. Probably hire a stunt woman. _‘Fuck!’_ you think. “Alright,” you say.

The truth is, you’re scared, and it doesn’t help that there will be security measures or mats or people, because the stage is fucking high - at least in your opinion and falling down a stage is not really your thing. Not when it is on purpose. You literally would trade all this for an afternoon course of endless weird improvisation of method acting - _‘become the chair, be the chair!’_ \- yeah, everything is better as falling down a stage.

The other truth is, you can’t talk to the others, your friends, they probably would laugh at you, point at you and tell you something like “Come on! Easy peasy! Afraid?” No, that’s not an option.

Days go by, and you can’t shake your worries off. You lie awake in your bed musing over the stunt you have to do. Painting out all the _“what - can - go - wrong - scenarios”_ that come to your mind.

One night after a rehearsal, when everybody is changing clothes and making stupid jokes behind the stage, you sit yourself into the front row of the little theater, letting your thoughts wander. Today you have rehearsed the fall, and it went okay. Not perfect, but okay and you know, in the past, it went once in awhile not okay. You’re still alive, haven’t broken any legs or arms, so even this you can consider as “okay”.

“Shit,” you mutter, biting your fingernails absently.

“Excuse me,” suddenly a voice comes from behind you and it makes you jump out of your seat, with a short squeal, faster as you thought it was possible to defy gravity and spin around on your heels. Your hands automatically go into some kind of awkward defensive position.

There is a man, raising his hands, to show you he will do you nothing, “Sorry!”

“Christ!” you blurt out, placing one hand on your chest. “You scared the living daylights out of me!” you stagger back till the stage is in your back and exhale loudly.

Only now you look at the man, he is very tall, older, somewhere in his fifties you guess, with grey curls, and some kind of greenish eyes. For a moment you think the man looks familiar, but you brush the thought away, and wait for him to say something.

“It was not my intention to startle you,” he stands in the row behind yours, smiling coy at you and you instinctively start to like him. “I was looking for someone, and got a bit lost here.”

“You got lost?” you speak up in an incomprehensive tone. It’s not such a big theater.

“Yes,” he smirks, as if he is used to this reaction. It seems to you something like this happens a lot to him. He tells you he is looking for one of your teachers and you tell him they are behind the stage.

“Great,” he claps his hands together, looking around. “So how do I get there?”

You chuckle, “You really went lost here, mh? There, behind the curtain is a door and a staircase. Leads you directly behind the stage,” you point out.

You still stand by the stage, your hands left and right on the edge and for a moment you notice how this must look and quickly fold your hands in front of you.

The man is already about to go, when he stops and starts to look around. On the stage there is still some of the requisite and in front of the stage are the mats, where you have to fall on. “Did you guys just rehearse?”

“Yeah, we did. The premiere is in a few weeks.”

He glances down at his watch and decides he has some spare time, so he walks to the end of the row, makes a turn and comes back to you on your side, “I am Peter, by the way.”

You reach out, and shake his hand, that is warm and comforting, and tell him your name.

“What a nice name!” he sits himself down in one of the chairs. “So, what is your part in the play?”

You are surprised a stranger is suddenly so interested in the play and your part in it, but you like his curiosity, “I don’t want to bother you with boring details, and also not want to spoil the experience for you in case you want to see it,” you smirk. “I play the part who falls from the stage.”

A moment of silence comes up. Peter eyes the mats on the floor, than you, “I see.”

“You see what?” you ask, wanting him to elaborate his remark.

“You are telling me, you fall from this stage, down here?”

You turn around to eye the little construction as if something is wrong with it, “Yes, correct. Usually there is someone to look after me, too.”

“That’s brave.”

“Brave?” not one person you told about it, has ever mentioned to you, that this act will be brave. “I thought it’s my duty somehow.”

“You duty? Because you’re an actress?”

“You must know, you are the first person ever telling me, that this is brave.”

He ruffles his hair, frowning over your words, “It is! It’s fucking high!”

That makes you laugh, and it is a relieving feeling, that at least someone can see that too. “Yes, it is. But…” You stop, you not want to complain about your friends and colleagues in front of a man you just have met.

“But what?” he gently asks. “What do the others say?”

“My director says, I will do it. And that they keep me safe,” you slowly walk over to one of the seats, thinking about to sit down, but you are not in the mood yet.

“And your friends?”

“I don’t complain, okay,” you want to explain yourself. “It’s fucking high, and I am actually a bit scared. We rehearse it of course, but it not always went fine, and it freaks me out a bit. But I haven’t told my friends.”

“Why not?”

“They will laugh about me,” you shrug.

“Will they?” he nods toward the chair next to him.

“I assume, yeah,” you say quieter, sitting down.

You can feel him watch you, but you don’t dare to look at him, suddenly his presence makes you nervous.

“You want to hear a story?” he leans a bit over, giving you a challenging look. “A theater story?”

First you frown, than you smile and then you are curious, “Go on.”

“When I was around 37, so much older than you, I was in a play, and it was not the main role or something, but I was the part who fell over.”

“Who fell over?”

“Yes, I had to faint and fall over and someone had to catch me,” he explained. “Before I hit the ground of course. And that scared me actually. Because when you faint, you close your eyes and you have trust the other.”

“Like this little trust games you sometimes play in school or on parties,” you remember playing this once with some of your friends when you were younger.

“Yes, exactly!” he tips your forearm with his fingers. “So we rehearsed it and everytime the guy caught me, what didn’t stopped me from being nervous and afraid. And then one night, the man who usually caught me, got sick, and they replaced him, with someone I didn’t know.”

“Don’t tell me, he didn’t caught you, because that’s not helping me here!” you call out, foreseeing the story.

“Hey, that’s my story, and yes I fell over, but that is not the moral of the story,” you make an excusing gesture and tell him to go on. “So I fall over, and the guy doesn’t catch me, and luckily one of the others jumped in, but it was too late, and I hit my head. I got a scar. Here,” he leans forward and presents you his head.

You try to see it, but you just shake your head, waiting for him to retreat but instead he grabs for one of your hands. He takes two of his fingers and places his fingers over yours, and shoves them gently into his hairline. “Can you feel this?”

You can feel your heart set another speed at first, and then you feel a fine rough line. Like a little hollow, “Yes. There?” you rub with your fingers over it, and he hums. Now you are noticing your entangle your fingers with his curls and you blush violently, taking your hands away.

He smirks, slightly pursing his lips over your reaction, “I did the fall a few more times, and you can imagine, I was nervous every time again.”

“Yes, I can imagine that,” unconsciously you bring your fingers to your nose, sniffing a faint scent of him. “But, I still don’t get the moral of your story.”

He shifts in his seat, till his shoulder touches yours, “It’s okay to be afraid, and it doesn’t matter what age you have and it is okay to talk to your friends about it.”

“They will laugh about me.”

“How can you know? And if, you maybe should invite them to do the fall once, it will make them realize that it is not that easy,” you think about his words, unsure what to answer, when he goes on. “What you do is brave, and I can understand that you are nervous. It’s good, it makes you aware and alerted and keeps you safe. And if you not feel safe, doing this, than you have to say it! They say, they keep you safe, but most of all, you have to keep yourself safe. Do you understand that?”

You give him a side glance, “I think so yes.”

Peter places his hand over yours for a short moment, “I believe in you.”

“You just say that to make me feel better,” you answer way to quickly and feel guilty pushing him away like this.

“No, I say that because I mean it, and yes because I want to make you better,” it is his gentle town, the low quiet voice, that gives you the feeling he really means it. As if you two conspire against all the others. “Can you do me a favour?”

You look up, “I can try.”

He stands up from his seat, holding out his hand to help you up, “Give a damn about the others laughing, and most of all believe in your talents, and your spirit and everything you are! Can you do this for me?”

You’re nervous and also excited that Peter speaks like this to you, that he tries to encourage you and his presence comforts you. Silently you wish, he would be there when the first show will run.

“Yes, I can.”

A smile spreads over his face, “That’s great. Hug?” he holds out his arms and you can’t refuse his offer.

“Definitely!”

He gives you a tight hug, rubbing over your back and you enjoy the contact, enjoy his odor in your nose and the warmth. You’re glad you met the man.

“You gonna nail it, I am sure of that,” he lets go of you, giving you one of his warm smiles and you smile back at him.

“Thank you.”

“No. Thank you,” he says slowly walking away. “Oh, when is the premiere?”

You tell him the date, “Why?”

“Will you do a stage door? Maybe I drop by, collecting some autographs, from the girl who jumped from the stage.”

“I am not the main part,” you only answer, softly laughing over his tries to cheer you up.

He stops by the curtain, standing now on the stage, “Hey! Damn the main part, no one will remember the lead actors! But everyone will remember the girl, who jumped from the stage. So laugh about your friends, because no one will talk about them, after the curtain drops. Trust an old actor. It will come like this.”

“If you say so,” you gently kick one of the mats with your shoe and then he is gone. And you don’t know what to think about this little encounter, but you know one thing for sure;

_You are gonna nail it!_

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this one, and I would love to read your comments. In case you are interested in such fic, because you have to face some uncomfortable situation, you can always message me over tumblr or here on A03 via the comments.


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